She said nothing.
Katherine kept silent, which was a small miracle in and of itself, and helped Benedict to the doors leading outside. It was when she reached the double doors that she stole a glance back at Paisley, whose eyes were trained on Lady Anastasia as if she was his water in a drought. Katherine suppressed a sigh of longing. Would any man ever look at her with such hunger? For she did not miss the way his eyes hooded the minute they set upon Lady Anastasia. She felt herself blush as she looked back down at the ground feeling suddenly very much an imposter.
Heartsick, she swallowed the lump in her throat and helped Banbury down the remaining stairs.
He slurred for his carriage.
Katherine rolled her eyes.
This was her life. Helping the drunken Devil Duke into his carriage while licking her wounds from the other duke who was too pigheaded to do anything worthwhile and thought her nothing but a schoolgirl.
The fact that they were both foxed and angry just irritated her all the more.
The carriage seemed to take years. The footman jumped down to help the duke into the carriage.
"Good riddance," she uttered under her breath as she turned on her heel.
"Wait," Banbury called, his voice strangely quiet.
Against her better judgment, she stopped in her tracks. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to the carriage and leaned in.
"I forgot…" Banbury ran a gloved hand through his perfectly dark hair.
"What did you forget?"
"My betrothed."
With strength of a god, he pulled her into the carriage, causing her to tumble across his lap just as the blasted horses took off.
If she wasn't ruined before, she was good and ruined now. Her last thoughts before the Devil Duke brought her to his lap and kissed her.
CHAPTER SIX
To Dare the Duke
One kiss, just one blasted kiss.
Blind rage had engulfed his entire body when he saw Baldwyn dancing with Katherine. An emotion he had never before experienced slammed into his chest, stealing the breath straight from him. Unable to speak, he had resorted to bellowing in the large ballroom rather than politely walking up to the couple and punching his cousin in the face.
Truthfully, everyone within the vicinity was lucky he'd been foxed, for even he was not drunk enough to falsely believe he would be a good shot. Not with how heavy his body had felt.
It was all Rawlings' fault, for he had found great amusement in goading Benedict to drink more. And then Renwick had joined in, and some other gentleman who had a twin, and to be honest, it was all quite fuzzy after that.
Montmouth told him he should sleep it off.
And he'd been planning to.
Really he had been.
Until he saw her.
Heaven above, she was beautiful, and she really didn't have a right to be anything but disagreeable and ugly. After all, she had nearly killed him and then ruined him, a renowned scoundrel of all people, in front of his aunt!
Without logic entering into the equation, he grabbed the minx by the arm and brought her outside.
His only goal to scare her and warn her of dalliances with other men. If he was to placate her family, he needed to have his two weeks without any competition. Not that he was worried he would lose, it just didn't seem fair.
But once he opened his mouth, her vanilla scent bombarded him nearly sending him to his knees, and once again he was filled with a violent lust that left him wondering what it would feel like to lick her bare skin.
Unfortunately, he was too foxed to use any of his usual tactics.
Meaning… he resorted to trickery.
Not one of his finer moments.
She didn't even fight him.
Which, according to his drunken haze, told him she desired him as much as he desired her, which according to his calculations, also meant she would be receptive to his kiss.
She wasn't.
Instead, she pushed against his chest and kicked until, with a curse, he pulled away.
"What the devil was that for?"
"You pompous, arrogant, son of a—"
His hand covered her mouth before she made a fool of herself by insulting a peer of the realm, one who ranked higher than she, if only by a tiny hair.
"Cease from speaking, you insulting wench." Well, he could have said that better. He blamed the whiskey, and those wretched twins. What were their names again? Anthony and Ambrose, something? Why the devil had they kept pouring that whiskey? Terrible idea to begin with. He needed a clear mind, not one muddled with alcohol.
He shook his head.
Katherine slapped him, offering her assistance no doubt.
"Well, that was helpful, my thanks." He scowled and touched his cheek where he carried a painful mark of her assault.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" Katherine's nostrils flared. He didn't need to be sober to know she was upset, but he did need to be sober to be able to concentrate on her face rather than the swell of her breasts.